Talks in Bars
by lilien passe
Summary: Alcohol invites conversations. A collection of long and short one shots revolving around various characters and pairings.
1. Since Ago, Acquiescence, Unknown Solace

-Author's Notes-

The first in a series of, oddly enough, talks in bars. The first set revolves around England and America.

Dammit. Why do these two just… invite angst?! It drives me crazy! I tried, I really did, to keep this from turning into a depressing piece of shit. I think we can safely say that plan fell through in a heartbeat. Written in disjointed bits that may or may not actually work together.

Warnings: Language. Poor grammar. Bastardization and stereotyping of accents. Eventual sorta slash. Pretty blatantly out of character Alfred and to an extent Arthur as well. If you have problems with any of these things, a good click of that back button might be in order.

Disclaimer: I may be a duchess of Sealand, but I still don't own APH. Or Jack Daniels. But if you put those two things I don't own together you may just stumble across something awesome.

As always, feedback of any sort is mounted on gold plaques to be hung in my apartment.

----

**Talks in Bars**

_Scene 1: Since Ago_

Arthur downed his fifth beer, slamming the glass on the bar table when he had drained the dregs from the bottom. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, shooting a glare at the nation sitting next to him.

"Say that one more time."

Alfred grinned. "Aluminum."

"Gah," Arthur blanched, letting his forehead thunk down on the bartop. "I thought I taught you better than that. But now here you are dropping your 'u's everywhere and saying aluminum when it's clearly aluMINIum." The British man lolled his head to the side to fix one narrowed emerald eye on the smirking American's face. "Do you really hate my language that much?"

"Nah," Alfred said, taking a swig of beer. "Don't hate it. It just wasn't… me, ya know? Had to mix it up."

Arthur groaned, clenching his eyes shut, "'Ya know'? Ugh. It's enough to make me want to vomit all over you."

"Then plug your ears and turn around," Alfred said, rolling his eyes. "Besides, I've heard how you talk sometimes. I mean, cockney? The hell is that? It's like someone kicked a guy square in the balls and then recorded his gargled noises of pain."

"I'll have you know that dialect has a rich and varied history," Arthur snapped, waving the barkeep over to order another beer. "And I'd rather listen to a thousand Welsh men having an inebriated singing contest than to be forced to endure even a second of that thing you so erroneously refer to as a 'Southern drawl'."

"Some people think it sounds homey," Alfred muttered into his glass.

Arthur snorted. "'Homey'. Synonymous with 'simple', I'm sure. What a bastardized tongue. Nothing like the Queen's English I speak."

"Oh?" Alfred raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Guess that makes you a queen then, huh."

"Haha. Your stunning wit cripples me," said Arthur, elegantly rolling his eyes.

Alfred took a drag of beer and decided to switch topics before the British man's sarcasm overwhelmed the entire room. "Anyway, I hear you've got an Industrial Revolution thing going' on. How's that workin' out for ya?"

Arthur waved a hand dismissively, "Oh, that. Hardly even worth mentioning, really. Although," he paused, thick eyebrows knit in thought, "it _is_ rather nice not having to make shit by hand anymore. But don't even get me started on what it's doing to my house. God awful mess, I'll tell you what."

Alfred gave a weak chuckle, but the strained sound quickly faded. What limited conversation they'd been having came to a screeching halt, and both nations stared into their depleted glasses of beer until Alfred suddenly spoke. "So…India, huh? What's it like over there?"

"Hot. Lot of cows. Can't eat them, you know," Arthur said, pushing his glass away and resting his chin on his hand. "My new boss is very big on expanding my house. Even took a chunk off of China after a spot of… unpleasantness. Quiet kid. Not really into the whole conversation bit."

Alfred folded his arms over his chest, and looked off to the side. "Tryin' to make up for what you lost?"

Arthur sat quietly looking at his hands, and when he spoke, his voice was tinged with hesitation, as though choosing every word with the utmost caution. "I… I'm not sure I recall losing anything."

"What _do_ you recall then?" Alfred said, his voice lowering dangerously. "Because as _I_ remember it, you got your ass handed to you pretty severely. Twice. Within a span of fifty years."

Arthur's knuckles turned white as he gripped his glass, attempting to keep his temper reigned in. "All I can remember is an ungrateful, deluded little brat who thought he could just do whatever struck his fancy and the whole world would kowtow before him."

Alfred's eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to speak before he seemed to think better of it. Instead he drained the rest of his beer, rose to his feet, and threw some money down on the bar. "I knew this was pointless. A hundred years later and we still can't get the past behind us." He laughed mirthlessly, "Although I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You and France have been at each other's throats for, what? Centuries? I'll pass on that, thanks. Call me up again in another hundred years. Maybe then we'll be able to sit through an entire evenin' without resortin' to takin' jabs at each other."

With that, Alfred turned on his heel and headed for the door, throwing a mock salute over his shoulder at the exasperated nation sitting alone at the bar.

Arthur watched the younger man leave, before heaving a sigh and pushing aside empty beer bottles to lay his head on the bar top.

"You stupid ponce," he muttered, burying his face in his arm. "Why do you insist on making things so difficult?"

****

_Scene 2: Acquiescence_

The stool next to Arthur made a screeching noise as it was dragged across the scuffed tiles. The thick browed man managed to pry his eyes away from his drink to turn and watch the younger nation sidle into the seat, waving over the barkeep to order his first round. Arthur stared, watching the American's Adam's apple bob up and down as the other man took his first shot of whiskey, and tried to think of something to say that didn't involve either the words "fucking moron" or some sort of grateful sentimental drivel that still threatened to spill out past his teeth

Alfred set his tumbler down on the bar top, wincing as the acrid drink burned its way down his throat. Arthur started slightly as the younger man turned to fix inquisitive blue eyes on his face.

"So," Alfred said, the corner of his mouth threatening to twitch up in the beginnings of a smile. "I'm assumin' this is your way of thankin' me for savin' your pathetic hide?"

"Hardly," the British man attempted to school his voice into a cool and distant tone, "Consider this a favor. I'm letting you come here and bask in the glory of our mutual victory."

Alfred picked up his next shot and laughed derisively, "You must have a stick up your ass a mile long that keeps you from ever sayin' thanks."

"I fail to see what I should be grateful for," Arthur sniffed, cracking open his next bottle of beer on the counter top. "You love to play the magnificent hero. The way I see it, you owe me for letting you fulfill your… what's that phrase you like to throw around… ah yes, 'Manifest Destiny' or whatever cock-and-bull philosophy you're bantering around to try and justify your lust for land, power and prestige."

"What can I say. I had a good teacher," Alfred said, drumming his fingers on the table. "And just to keep things straight, 'Manifest Destiny' didn't have nothin' to do with it. Stopped hidin' behind that a long time ago."

"So you say."

They both drank in silence for a moment, before Alfred whipped around to point one accusing finger at the older man's face, "And for the record, you were cowerin', _cowerin'_ in a trench with France of all nations, diggin' foxholes and prayin' Germany wouldn't smoke your ass into the next century."

"Hey, I had a plan," Arthur snapped, pushing Alfred's hand out of his face, "And it would have worked too if I'd had a bit more time to properly lay it out."

Alfred rolled his eyes, "Right. A plan. You sure it wasn't more along the lines of 'Take cover in a trench with my ex-mortal enemy and wait for America to come swoopin' in and save my sorry ass'?"

Arthur toyed with his empty bottle of beer, long fingers picking away at the damp label. "God, you're…you…I-I didn't… think…" he trailed off. The pile of shredded label grew.

"Think what?" Alfred said, his good mood suddenly soured, angrily taking a swig of beer. "Didn't think you'd ever know France could be sucha good foxhole buddy? Didn't think Germany could even aim wortha damn? Didn't think 'The War to End All Wars' would be so painfully shitty?" He placed his glass on the counter with barely controlled restraint, memories of an ungrateful war bubbling oily to the surface of his mind. "Come on, England. You think I barely have a grasp of the English language, so what's stoppin' you from one-uppin' me? What're you waitin' for? Lemme hear your oh-so-witty prose, you smug motherfu-"

"I didn't think you would come."

Alfred stopped mid-rant, his face still slightly flushed with anger, arms frozen in the middle of a grand and exasperated gesture. After a moment he slowly lowered his arms, folding them across his chest, and sat down on the bar stool, for once letting the older nation speak uninterrupted.

"What."

Arthur gave a shaky sigh, swiveling on his stool to face Alfred, cheeks tinged slightly pink with embarrassment. "I-I didn't think you would come." He continued haltingly, seemingly encouraged by America's lack of scathing commentary. "And I never thought it would end. You must remember a bit of what it was like, down in those… those pits." The sandy-blonde haired man gave an uncontrolled shudder, pressing his fingers against his temples, phantom explosions ringing in his ears. "France and I… we were there for months. Barely surviving. Not even sure we even wanted to survive anymore. Watching mortars fall like hellish rain, gagging down months-old hardtack, disease, rubbish, death…"

Arthur shook his head, clearing the fog of unbidden memories from his mind. He opened another bottle of beer on the bar top, taking a deep draught. All the while, Alfred just stared on, an unreadable expression on his face, fingers resuming their slow drumming on the pitted surface of the counter. The British man lowered his beer, his voice subdued. "It felt like being trapped in a loop. The same thing day after day. And then," he shot the younger man a look, searching for a response. "And then," he continued hesitantly, "You showed up. Against all reason. And I wanted to hate you for just strolling in like you owned the front. For taking charge. For kicking France and me out of those trenches and throwing yourself in instead without a backwards glance. For showing up at all." Arthur's mouth curled up in a caustic smile, "But I couldn't do it. I couldn't hate you. And it was then…that I realized...that…"

Arthur turned away from the other nation, letting his head fall on arms he had folded on top of the counter. He continued in a strained voice, a part of him recognizing that he'd had, perhaps, a bit too much to drink. "I realized that you didn't need me anymore." He gave a muffled, bitter chuckle. "I'd known for a long time, of course. Ever since you shoved that rifle in my face and told me politely to get the fuck out of your house. Ever since you switched to coffee and started spelling colour without the u and made your own overly complicated flag that you seem to enjoy plastering over everything that stands still long enough for you to get close."

"But still I'd never realized. Isn't it curious how we can know something, know it to the very core of our being, and yet never realize? But when I saw you, not even moving, not even speaking, just standing there with those shells exploding not five feet away with that damnable grin plastered on your smug face, I just-"

Arthur stopped himself and sat up, rubbing one war-roughened hand across his bleary eyes. Alfred hadn't moved from his spot, perched on the edge of his stool, his head tilted forward, bangs falling over his glasses to shield his eyes.

Arthur gave a weak chuckle, "I suppose I should know my limit by now. Sorry about that, I-"

"I'm not a child anymore, Arthur."

Alfred's quiet tenor barely cut through the noise of the bar, and Arthur had to lean forward slightly just to catch the words. Alfred raised his head to meet Arthur's covertly panicked and stricken gaze. "I'm not a child anymore," he repeated with more confidence in his voice, sitting up straight and folding his hands on top of the counter. "Haven't been one for a long time. And for some reason, I can never seem to leave well enough alone. Can't seem to keep myself from gettin' involved in anythin' and everythin'." The young nation hesitated, before letting a quiet smile flash across his features. "But you may be wrong."

Arthur's thick eyebrows rose towards his hairline, "Wrong. About what, exactly?"

Alfred reached forward to gently poke the older man's forehead with one blunt finger, a true smile slowly breaking out across his face.

"I came when you called, didn't I?"

He raised his hand to slowly run his fingers through a few wayward strands of the British man's sandy blonde hair. Arthur froze, unwilling to move for fear of shattering the moment.

Alfred's smile widened, as he leaned forward to whisper.

"How much more needy could I get?"

****

_Scene 3: Of Unknown Solace_

This time it was Arthur who showed up late. He pushed open the rutted and scarred bar door, eyes already sweeping the darkened room for a familiar form. It was late, and the pub had long ago let loose all its patrons back onto the inviting streets. All save for one, lone figure. America was seated hunched over the counter in the very center of the bar top, his jacket thrown haphazardly across the stool next to him. Bottles and empty tankards littered the countertop around him. The young nation sat with this head in his hands, one foot anxiously tapping against the side of his seat. The jukebox played on softly in the background.

Arthur let the door close gently behind him, taking a few hesitant steps towards the bar. America didn't acknowledge his presence, save for a slight pause in the otherwise steady rhythm of his tapping foot. Arthur cautiously made to sit down on the stool to the right of the other man, unsure if his presence would be a welcome intrusion into the blonde's sanctuary. The loud screeching noise of the barstool temporarily drowned out the lilting voice of the jukebox, masking the fretful tap-taping of one standard issue Army boot against oak furniture. Arthur winced at the invasive noise, but decided it was as good of an ice breaker as any.

"I didn't think you'd still be here," the British man said suddenly, deciding in an instant to throw all his chips in at once. He gave up any semblance of trying to be stealthy, sitting down next to the American with a loud clatter and grabbing one of the few untouched beers off of the counter.

"Where else would I be."

America's voice sounded normal enough, and Arthur caught a blurry glimpse out of the corner of his eye of the other man sitting up and brushing the wrinkles from his uniform. Alfred popped his back with a quiet sigh, reaching out and snagging the almost empty bottle of Jack lying abandoned in front of him. He poured himself a shot before turning to the older nation questioningly.

Arthur narrowed his eyes, but held out a glass. Alfred poured the drink wordlessly, and leaned forward on his elbows, staring into the full tumbler. His boot resumed its restless drumming.

Arthur eyed the hazy liquid apprehensively for a moment, before deciding that if there ever was a better time to get completely sloshed he'd rather not live to see it. He downed the shot in one gulp, coughing slightly at the unexpected rancor. "G-good Lord, what is this swill?" he managed to choke out, shakily holding out his glass for another.

"A taste of home," said Alfred, shoving his own untouched tumbler across the bar to the other man. "Had to stop makin' it for a while. Tastes different than I remembered." He smiled bitterly, "Feels good to reminisce though."

Arthur took the tumbler, hiding his uncertainly with another shot of the liquid. It burned a little less this time. He glanced at the bottle. "Just how much have you been reminiscing?"

"More than I'd cared to," came the American's murmured reply as he picked up the bottle and took a long swig. He set the now empty bin down on the bar top with a quiet thud, his fingers still gripping the square edges. "You wanna tell me what you're doin' here at five in the mornin'?"

"Do I need a reason?"

"Most people normally do, yeah."

"We're not most people."

Alfred grinned abrasively. "Nah. Guess we're not."

"To tell you the truth," Arthur's voice quieted. The jukebox stilled as it changed records. The silence was deafening. "To tell the truth… I was asked to."

"The hell kinda language is that. Passive voice. Minus three points."

"Would you stop being so goddamn flippant for a fucking second?" Arthur hissed, resisting the urge to reach out and shake the man. "You know bloody damn well who asked me."

America pushed aside the now useless bottle, searching for a new distraction. He found one in the form of an unopened bottle of vodka, and snapped open the top, watching the clear liquid spill into his waiting glass. "I might have an idea," he said offhandedly, downing his drink in a flash of movement.

"He's on the mend."

"Good to know."

"He wants to see you."

"Didn't he get the flowers I sent?"

"It's not enough, Alfred," Arthur sighed, gesturing for the bottle.

The other man stilled his hand in surprise for a moment before handing over the quickly vanishing bottle.

"You know what's really fucked up about all this?"

"Do I have to choose just one thing?" asked Arthur wryly. "And this tastes even worse than what you had."

"That's the first time you've said my name in close to two hundred years."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You say your own name enough for the two of us. I fail to see why my saying it should provoke any sort of reaction whatsoever."

"Course you wouldn't," Alfred said caustically. "You never attach the right meanin' to anythin'."

"Please tell me this is just the drink talking."

Alfred continued, snatching the bottle away from the other man. "You _gave_ me my name, you fuckin' moron," he snapped. "You gave it to me and then tried to take it away again. Because you know what power there is in just a simple name. The last time you called me by anthin' other than my goddamn _title_ was December 17th, back in 1773."

"Down to the very day? No timestamp though. I'm a bit disappointed."

"'Get the hell out of my house, Alfred,'" the American's voice was suddenly cold and haughty, his blue eyes focused on the other man's face. "'You have forced my hand. Whatever may be the consequence, I must now risk something. If I do not, all is over.'"

Arthur blinked in astonishment at the words spat out in a derisive parody of his own voice. "You… you remember all of that?"

"'Course," said Alfred bitterly. "Who wouldn't cling to the final vestiges of his hero's words?"

Arthur faltered slightly. "And… since then?"

"Not since."

The jukebox flared to life again, strains of the scratchy record bleeding into the corners of the room.

"I-I'm sor-"

"Don't bother," Alfred cut the older man off. "I try not to hold grudges, but you forcin' an apology makes that policy pretty damn hard to follow."

"Well then what do you want me to do?" Arthur grew frustrated. "I never know what stunt you're going to pull next! Never know what asinine thing is going to spew out of that obnoxious mouth of yours to sully the air around me! I mean, Jesus," Arthur shook his head, running an aggravated hand through his tousled hair. "You just accomplished something no one but the daft and insane had ever dreamed was even possible. You crippled a nation in two short, vicious blows without even batting an eye. You-"

Alfred stood, the sudden movement pushing the stool to the hard ground with a loud clatter. He grabbed the shorter man by the collar, eyes flashing with suppressed fury, drawing back his fist to belt the other man across the face. Arthur winced reflexively, preparing himself for the blow.

But it never came.

The seconds ticked on, marked by the wavering lonely voice of the jukebox. Arthur cautiously looked up to see the anger slowly dissipating from the taller man's sunken blue eyes. Alfred lowered his fist, taking one long, shuttering breath before gradually unclenching his fist from the fabric around Arthur's neck.

They stood for a moment, neither able to meet the other's gaze. When Alfred spoke, his voice sounded detached and hollow. "I've done somethin', haven't I. Somethin' that'll change the world."

"Perhaps," said Arthur, fighting back the urge to wrap his arms around the other man. He tried desperately to ignore the glimpses of the child Alfred had once been that were slowly fading from the corners of his vision. "We've all done things," he said softly. "Terrible things. Wondrous things." The British man cracked a weak smile. "Terribly, terribly stupid things. All of us."

Alfred gave a silent chuckle, breaking it off before it turned into something more dire. Something more genuine. He reached up to take off his glasses, laying them firmly on the bar top, and looked hesitantly down at the other nation. Arthur met the other man's gaze, scrutinizing the cerulean eyes. Without the glasses to shield him, Alfred looked worn, weary from the years of fighting. He looked shaken, battered by the harsh realities he'd forced upon himself. Looked a thousand years older than he was, bereft of all traces of his former childishness.

He looked like a broken man.

Arthur ignored the slightly hysterical voice in his head telling him to stop. Telling him to let the other nation collect himself. To let things stay right where they were, and to just let it be, let him be. He pressed that voice into a muted corner of his mind, and reached up with steady arms to draw the younger man close. Alfred collapsed into the embrace, grabbing onto Arthur like a drowning man, his broad, proud shoulders trembling at the other man's touch. Arthur felt himself unconsciously tighten his grip around Alfred's waist, felt one of his hands reach upwards, unbidden, to smooth down the tangled flaxen strands of the other man's hair.

The jukebox played on, concealing in a harsh blanket of sound the softly whispered words of understanding that fell to rest on the grimy bar floor.

---------

End Notes:

So we ended in kind of a different place than we started, huh. Totally unintentional. I had no idea Alfred was such an angst kitty.

Next time: A Manly Friendship! Incest Jokes! Fond Reminiscing of the Austrian Wars!


	2. Times Now Past, Futures Uncertain

-Author's Notes-

Part two of the gripping 'Talks in Bars' series. Will Julianne finally be reunited with her estranged mother? Will Bernadette confess her undying love to Roger, even as her husband wastes away from the black lung? Is the child Wilber's or Sarge's?! And just who is the masked bandit!?

Wait, wait. No. Wrong one.

Three guys at a bar. That's about the size of it.

Warnings: Enough swearing to make a sailor think twice. Jokes about things of a questionable nature. Pretentious titles. Crazy attempt to deal with Antonio's adorable Kansai-ben. Massive abuse of the word 'man'.

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**Talks in Bars**

_Scene 4: Times Now Past, Futures Uncertain_

"-and then he threatened 't shove a bottle full of gasoline up my ass and light it on fire."

Gilbert almost spewed a mouthful of beer across the table. Francis raised one eyebrow and gave a wry smile. "Sounds like your little Romano is all grown up."

Spain shook his head, "You're right, of course. Jus' wish he didn't have 't be so violent 'bout it."

Gilbert coughed, clearing the last of the inhaled beer from his lungs, before wheezing out, "You're pathetic, man. Just tell him already!"

Antonio laughed, "'Fraid I'm not nearly as capable of that sorta thing as you are, Gil. Lovino doesn't take kindly to me talkin' to him at all, let alone 'bout somethin' like this."

"Weak. Just… weak," the platinum man rolled his eyes, taking another swig of beer. "'Course it's probably for the best. The guy was just a damn brat only, what, a couple hundred years ago? Hell, you _met_ him when he was just a kid." Gilbert eyed the still grinning nation over the top of his beer, "Or are you tellin' me you go for that sort of thing?"

Spain's face reddened slightly, and he shifted his gaze off to the side, his grin fading. "I… didn't really even think 'bout that..."

"Now, now, Gilbert. I'm sure our Antonio's intentions are pure enough," said Francis airily. "Besides, haven't we all had those sorts of feelings at some point in our long and sensuous lives?"

"Speak for yourself, letch," said Gilbert, quickly reaching over to snag two more beers from a passing waitress' tray. "I hear you've got your sights set across the pond. What's his name… the quiet dude. Can-somethin'. Shit. I can never remember the weak ones' names. Canadamn. Canadune. …Fuck it. You know who I mean. That guy. With the bear."

Antonio's eyebrows shot up and he turned to grin at the blonde man, who was gazing warily at his two companions. "Really? Little Canada?"

"CANADA. Knew it was some sorta stupid ass name," Gilbert said, slamming his hand on the table. "See, Spain? You're not the only one who's a pedo around here."

"I'll have you know that Matthew is a fully grown adult, perfectly capable of making his own decisions," Francis said coolly, sipping at his drink. "Besides," he glanced out of the corner of his eye at the Germanic man. "I would rather be accused of being a pedophile than to be lusting after my own brother in a sorry one-sided Grecian tragedy sort of way."

Antonio burst out laughing as Gilbert's face immediately turned beet red.

"I-uh… who told you that?" Gilbert demanded in a voice filled with flimsy, false bravado. "Tell me who it was so I can go kick their sorry lying ass all the way over that damn wall Yao's so proud of."

"No, no, wait a sec. I heard 'bout this too," Spain chimed in, his eyes ablaze with amusement. "Apparently you got drunk 'n told Austria, who told Hungary, who for some reason told Feliciano, who told Lavino, who told me. That sound 'bout right?"

"I have NEVER gotten drunk within three thousand meters of that four-eyed prick," snapped Gilbert, slamming down his glass with more force than was strictly necessary. "Whoever told you that bullshit is fuckin' dead. And besides, he's not my actual brother! He's just a brother-like figure! Get your damn facts straight!"

"So then it's not true?" inquired Francis, a lazy smile on his face.

"'Course it's not true!" yelled Gilbert, his face aflame. "You'd have to be thicker than Greece to even be capable of entertainin' the idea without your head explodin'!"

Francis and Antonio exchanged amused grins over the top of the table as Gilbert laid into his fifth beer. France let the younger man finish his drink before speaking up again. "Your reaction speaks quite differently, my friend."

Gilbert stood still for a moment, his ruby eyes narrowed, drilling a hole into the table top with his gaze before he finally sighed, and flagged down a waitress.

"I'm gonna need somethin' a hell of a lot stronger than this," he said wearily. "And a lot of it."

The waitress nodded before scurrying off to the back, emerging moments later with a tall bottle filled with an amber liquid. She set the bottle on the table along with some glasses before retreating back behind the bar. Gilbert grabbed the bottle, cracking it open and tossing the lid carelessly over his shoulder. He poured three drinks, doling one out to each of his companions before grabbing his own. He eyed the other two with an uncharacteristically serious expression. "You gotta promise me," he said suddenly, "that this never leaves this bar."

Antonio nodded, throwing the younger man an encouraging grin. Francis said, "Of course," in his matter of fact way. The three of them clinked their glasses together before downing the bitter liquid.

Gilbert set his glass down and sighed heavily. "You guys… aren't entirely wrong," he said simply, shrugging one thin shoulder. He took another shot. Antonio and Francis waited expectantly. He took another drink. Antonio and Francis glanced at each other.

"Is-is that all?" Antonio hesitantly asked.

"'Course that's all. What were you expectin'? A fuckin' thousand word essay on the subject?"

Francis and Antonio both sighed in exasperation before turning to each other. "What did I tell you," said Francis, elegantly pouring himself another round. "Greek tragedy."

"Can it, France. My love is as pure and un-Greek as… as fuckin' edelweiss or whatever," grumbled Gilbert, stealing the bottle from the other nation. "And if I'm a Greek tragedy, then what the hell do you call those two blonde guys who're all over each other all the time? They were brothers once, right?"

Antonio furrowed his brow in thought, "Two blonde guys? Sweden and Finland?"

"Is Sweden blonde? I always thought he was more of an ashy brown."

"Nah, nah. That's Denmark. Or Norway. Can never keep the two of them straight."

"Are you sure? Wait, who am I thinking of then? Is Lativa blonde?"

Gilbert swore. "I'm talking about the goddamn UK and America! Christ, you two are more useless than Roderich in a cage fight."

Francis cocked his head to the side, "Arthur and Alfred? The last I heard they were at each other's throats. And in a decidedly non-sexual manner I'll have you know."

"Really?" Spain let his head rest in his hands, gazing absently into the crowd around the bar. "Always thought they'd be good together, ya know? Sorta like Romeo and Juliet."

"Romeo and Juliet die at the end, dipshit," said Gilbert, rolling his eyes. "And for the record, they probably wouldn't have lasted long anyway."

"What makes ya say that?"

"The sex, man. Happened way too fast. Totally destroyed the whole mystery of the situation, you know? It's like, once Romeo tapped that, then what? They just gonna stand there forever goin', 'Well that was nice we should do it again sometime when our families ain't locked in a constant blood feud.'? No way in hell. They had to die, or everyone would've seen that they wouldn't have lasted through even one more act."

Francis sniffed, "Your lack of appreciation for the finer arts is really astounding, Prussia."

The three of them sat in silence for a moment, the cries for the last orders of the night ringing around them.

Antonio laughed suddenly. "How the hell'd we get t' talkin' about Shakespeare of all things?"

"Prussia's incestuous love invites such topics."

"Your ass is grass, Francis."

The three stood to leave, chairs scraping against the rough floor.

Spain smiled. "Let's not wait so long t' do this again, okay?"

"Let's hope we're not fighting each other tomorrow. Then we can talk," said Francis dryly.

Prussia shrugged into his overcoat, "And remember that if any of this somehow reaches some other country's ears, I'll hunt you both down and go all Thirty Years War on your asses."

"Fair enough."

"No worries here."

The three strode out of the bar, Antonio still laughing about something or other. Francis grinned in a bemused sort of way while Gilbert gestured animatedly, describing in great detail the pain the other two nations would suffer at his hands.

They went their separate ways.

****

"Hello?"

Francis smiled, "Hello there, England."

There was dead silence on the other end of the line for a moment before England spoke again, his voice making him sound like he was seconds away from flying all the way over to the other man's house just to kick him in the balls for old time's sake. "This had better be important. Do you have any idea what time it is? Did Germany invade you again or something?"

"Not today, no," said Francis, shifting the telephone to his other ear. "But I did just hear an interesting tidbit of news. Thought I would share it with you."

"What. Is. It."

"Apparently you've been spotted cavorting with the American. I just wanted to call and let you know that I will never, ever let you forget this fact. Have a pleasant evening."

Francis deftly pressed the disconnect button just as the other end of the line erupted in a flurry of strangled and garbled insults.

He grinned. It was almost too easy.

****

"Welcome back."

Antonio paused in the hallway. "Romano? What are you doin' up?"

"Couldn't sleep," the younger man yawned, curled up in his favorite arm chair. Antonio's eyes warmed with affection. Gilbert's mocking voice still rang slightly in his ears, and he shook his head quickly to clear it. He looked up to see Romano fixing him with a poorly concealed look of concern. "You alright?"

"I'm… fine, Romano. Fine," Antonio said, smiling his usual sunny grin. "I'm pretty tired though, so I'm goin' to go t' bed."

Romano studied the older man for a moment before nodding slowly. "Alright then. See you in the morning."

Antonio turned and walked slowly up the stairs to his room.

"Pathetic, huh?" He laughed to himself. Sometimes Gilbert could be surprisingly on the mark.

****

Gilbert stopped in his tracks with a small sound of surprise. "W-West. Hey. You're awake."

Ludwig cracked his neck from side to side, standing and stretching as he moved tired and sore limbs. "So it would seem. Did you enjoy yourself at the bar?"

"It was alright," Gilbert shrugged, shucking off his heavy overcoat and letting it fall to the floor in a bedraggled heap. "Couldn't believe I'd forgotten what a pain in the ass France can be."

Ludwig gave a soft chuckle. "I suppose he can be rather trying."

Gilbert paused in the doorway of the other man's study, his fingers unconsciously moving up to touch the cross at the base of his neck. He took a deep breath.

"Say, West… There's something I've gotta tell you…"

---------

End Notes:

Please don't kill me.

For those of you who are wondering what the hell was up with Spain's speech, I based it off of a translation I'm working on involving this one character who speaks in really heavy Kansai dialect, which is what Spain speaks. Just thought I'd try out the same conventions I'm using in the translation and apply them to lil' Antonio. Comments appreciated, even if you detested it to the very core of your being.

To be honest, I'm not sure who to write about for the next story. If anyone has any ideas or suggestions, post them in a review. The one I like best will be the one I write about. It'll be interesting to see if anyone actually posts anything… *laughs*


	3. At the End of an Era

-Author's Notes-

Part three of the barely-hangin-in-there Talks in Bars series. I hate this part, because honestly? Trying to write these characters in a serious way with nothing to go on but a bunch of stereotypical (albeit hilarious) portrayals of them in the comic practically gave me an aneurism. So… yeah. I'm painfully aware that my characterizations are nothing short of total and complete fabrications that suck something fierce. But these characters do not get enough love, and so I wanted to at least try to write something with them in it.

Warnings: None. Absolutely none for this chapter. … and I'm sure half of you just lost what little interest you had in reading this. Oh wait. There's one little thing. I in no way have a political agenda of any kind. I don't even know what one of those things looks like. And also you may want to watch out for Yao waxing philosophical. He couldn't help it.

---------

**Talks in Bars**

_Scene 5: At the End of an Era_

The restaurant was packed with people, the clatter of cups and plates echoing to an almost deafening intensity. Waitresses fluttered back and forth between tables like anxious bees, dodging customers, carrying trays of food and drink with a frenzied grace that spoke of years of practice. The shop carried on during the rush, oblivious to the three figures seated in the shadowed corner table.

China fiddled distractedly with the end of his ponytail for a moment, worrying slightly at his bottom lip. The nation seated next to him reached out and slapped his hand away, making him give a small gasp of surprise. Korea leaned forward to grin across the table at the older man, shaking his head in mock exasperation. "China, China. I thought you quit that habit, yeah?"

"That's just what he wants us to believe," Taiwan said primly, reaching around China's other side to snag a dumpling off of the plate in front of him. "We should play him in poker sometime. With a tell like that, there's no way we'd walk away with anything less than a killing."

"We did that, remember? After that one summit meeting, yeah? With the beers and the stripping and the-"

Taiwan winced, and reached over to smack Korea gently on the arm. "I've never seen a man more eager to lose a hand of poker," she said, giving a small shudder of horror. "But I thought you were too drunk to remember that. You certainly seemed completely sloshed."

"Nope. All an act," Korea said, flashing her one of his trademark grins. "I invented the poker face, remember?"

The door to the bar opened, and all three nations turned as one to watch a young man gracefully weave his way around the packed crowds of people, making his way towards their table. He moved with proud and sure steps he strode across the restaurant, dark eyes focused and intent underneath heavy brows.

China sighed, tearing his gaze away from the young man still ghosting his way between tables as he came towards them to scowl at the other two. "Please be on your best behavior, you two. We do not want to scare him away," he said, catching himself fiddling with his ponytail again and wrenching his hands away before either of the younger nations could call him on it.

Taiwan giggled softly, but then fell silent as the young man finally reached their table. He stood stiffly at the edge, his hands shoved into pockets at his side. China suddenly rose to his feet with a flicker of movement, almost toppling the glasses scattered across of the table in his hurry.

"H-Hello," he stuttered, hand once again reaching up to mess with his hair before Taiwan poked him in the arm. He swallowed heavily and tried again, lowering his arms to his sides. "He…hello," he said with forced composure. "It is good… good to see you again."

Hong Kong stared across the table at the older man before bowing deeply. He straightened, his serious expression not faltering for an instant. "I assure you, the pleasure is all mine," he intoned formally, reaching out a hand across the table. China stared at the offered appendage in confusion for a moment before Korea heaved an exasperated sigh and stood as well. He grabbed the young man's hand and shook it vigorously, a huge grin splitting his face in two. "Yo! Good to have you back! Knew you'd escape from that eyebrow guy's place someday." he said cheerily, still latched on to the other man's hand with a death grip.

Taiwan pursed her lips. "I thought we agreed not to mention any, um… e-y-e-b-r-"

"I believe he is capable of spelling," China groaned, massaging his temples slowly.

"Well yes, but-"

Hong Kong winced slightly as Korea continued to vigorously shake his hand, "Yes. Hello all of you. Good to be back. Please. You can let go. Now."

"Honestly!" Taiwan kicked Korea under the table, making him yelp in pain, before standing as well. She smacked the Korean man's hand out of the way before reaching over to wrap Hong Kong in a smothering hug. "Ah! You're just as cute as your picture!" she squealed, tightening her grip around his thin waist. Hong Kong gave a small squawk of distress as the girl clung to him.

"I'm sorry but…I believe you are… crushing my lungs into my spine," he wheezed out, reaching up to try and pry her off.

Taiwan gave a tiny gasp and stepped away, her hands flying up to cover her mouth in shame. "Oh! I'm so sorry!" she said, fiddling with her necklace in embarrassment. "This all happened so suddenly, I just-"

Hong Kong waved her off, one arm clutching at his bruised ribs. "It's fine. Don't worry about it," he said stiffly.

The four nations stood awkwardly for a moment before Korea laughed. "Man!" he said loudly, falling back down into his seat and reaching out to crack open a beer. "We're acting as stiff as gramps here!" He laughed again, and pounded China on the back, causing the older man to pitch forward with a startled grunt. China ruefully rubbed at the offended spot before sitting as well. "What happened to respecting your elders?" he grumbled, pouring himself another glass of beer. "I miss the old days when you would have done anything for a piece of candy."

Korea shrugged as Hong Kong and Taiwan sat down, the latter with a look of suppressed amusement. "Hey, it's the twentieth century," Korea said casually, pouring a glass of beer and sliding it over in front of Hong Kong. "Gotta keep up with the times, yeah?"

"Confucius is crying in the afterlife at what his children have become," China muttered darkly, taking another sip of beer. Taiwan gave a light laugh and plunked a dumpling on a plate in front of Hong Kong. The youngest nation was looking around him at the other three, a hint of overwhelmed confusion playing around his features.

"Do you all get together like this often? The whole family, I mean?" Hong Kong asked suddenly, toying with his untouched glass of beer. He looked hesitant for the first time that evening, his thick brows furrowed slightly. "I'm just… I'm just not used to this sort of thing."

The other three paused and stared at the youngest nation. Korea broke the silence. "Well, no, we don't. Not really," he said awkwardly, leaning back in his chair with an uncharacteristically thoughtful expression on his face.

"Not since ages ago," China said simply, taking another bite of his food. "Before things got so complicated." He sipped at his beer.

Taiwan remained silent, her dark eyes shifted to the left to rest on the lone unoccupied seat at their table. Her fingers tightened around her glass, and her small mouth became twisted in a small, anxious frown.

"Did you even try to ask him?" she suddenly asked, her normally chipper voice subdued. Both Korea and China exchanged wary glances. "Who?" Korea asked, his voice light and airy with feigned confusion.

"Don't play dumb," Taiwan said, her gaze still fixed on the empty chair. "Did either of you even try to get in touch with him?"

"Of course we did," China said reassuringly, reaching out to rest a hand awkwardly on Taiwan's shoulder. "He was just too busy to come."

Taiwan tore her gaze away from the empty chair to glance sadly at China. "…I really should play you in poker again," she said, her voice choked tight with suppressed emotion. "You're still a terrible liar."

China pulled away, fiddling with the end of his ponytail again. An awkward silence fell over the table before Korea suddenly blurted out, "Sung Chan-Woo gets together with Suk Hee in the end!"

Taiwan gasped, and looked up angrily. "No!" she shrieked, clapping her hands over her ears, "I told you I didn't want to hear any more spoilers!"

Korea grinned evilly and leaned forward to yell louder, "And then he goes back to studying _law_ and gives up on his gangster life!"

Taiwan was singing loudly to herself, her eyes clenched tightly shut while Korea attempted to pry her hands away to force her to listen, jabbering away at a mile a minute.

Hong Kong looked over at the oldest nation, a slightly panicked expression on his face. China sighed, and shook his head. "It is this television show from Korea's house that Taiwan has fallen in love with." The Chinese man practically had to shout to make himself heard over the sound of the younger nations' antics. "He thinks it is funny to spoil the ending for her."

"I-I understand," Hong Kong said, in a voice that clearly stated he was suddenly regretting his return to the older nation's house. China smiled tiredly, and poured the younger nation a new glass of beer. "You will get used to it."

"It… is a bit different from Arthur's house," Hong Kong said hesitantly, but a small grin flitted across his features before schooling themselves back to neutrality. "But it is nice to be with all of you again. Even though I kept so much of what I had from here, it was still not the same. I barely remember anything from before. Just the sea, the ships, the smell of tea…" the younger nation trailed off, gazing at the other two who were now chattering about some television star neither of them had ever heard of.

China scowled at the mention of England's name, but remained tactfully silent on the subject. "Well, I am glad to have you back," he said instead, smiling bitterly to himself. "My house has been lonely for a long time now."

Hong Kong looked up to meet the older nation's gaze, a shy, hesitant smile tugging on the edges of his mouth. Then Taiwan accidentally threw her beer into his face, and his stony expression was back in full force.

******

Yao sat at the table, watching the barkeep wipe down the last of the tables, a lukewarm glass of wine cradled in his hand. The overhead lights flickered off with a quiet hiss, the neon signs above the bar illuminating the forlorn room in harsh swaths of color. Taiwan had long ago dragged Hong Kong to her house, promising to show him every episode of 'First Love' she had recorded from her television. The young man had shot the other two nations a silent cry for help with big, puppy dog eyes, but Korea just waved the two away, yelling something about how Hong Kong should appreciate his house's genius creations.

Across the table, Yong-Soo sighed, and leaned forward to prop his elbows on the table, fixing the older nation with an amused expression. "Cute kid, yeah?"

Yao shook his head and took a sip of his wine, grimacing at the stale taste. "He is almost your age. Why you feel you can call him 'kid' is a mystery to me."

Korea absently twirled one rebellious strand of hair with his finger, "But I'm the older brother, right? So it's only fair."

"…'Brother'," Yao said sullenly, resting his glass on the table. "What a load of nonsense."

Yong-Soo's eyes widened slightly, and he looked curiously across the table. "…You're acting weird. I thought getting him back to our family was a big deal for you."

"Of course it is," Yao said blankly, pouring himself another glass of the tepid wine. "But it changes nothing."

"Uh… yes it does. You finally got back something you lost, yeah? That's a change," Korea helpfully pointed out, the curl on his head bobbing slightly as he leaned down to rest his chin on the edge of the table.

Yao stared into his glass, gently sloshing the liquid back and forth, his eyes tracing the edges of the turbulent surface. "…I am old, Yong-Soo," he said quietly, "I remember when Greece's mother was the envy of the world. I remember when Rome vanished, leaving behind those two boys of his. I remember Turkey as a child; bratty and brash and scrambling around to retrieve the children the ancient ones had abandoned." He sighed heavily, taking another grimacing sip of the lukewarm wine. "Everyone had someone under their wing." he continued, absently playing with the ends of his hair. "And then I found all of you. You called me Brother, and I taught you everything I knew."

He lifted his head to look across the table at the younger man, who was idly tracing the grain of the wood with a finger. Yao drained the last of his wine and set the glass down on the table. "After he learned to write, do you know what one of the first letters he sent to me said?"

Yong-Soo shook his head. Yao frowned in reminiscence. "'To the house of the setting sun from the house of the rising sun,'" he quoted, smiling mirthlessly, "Cheeky little kid had the nerve to call me the 'setting sun'. In my own language, no less."

Yong-Soo yawned, "Sounds like him."

"But that is my point." Yao uncorked a new bottle of old wine, splashing some into his smudged glass. "Look how much the bond of brotherhood is worth in the end. Nothing. We call each other these names, give each other titles like 'brother' and 'grandfather', but it's all meaningless."

"Now who's pissing off Confucius," Yong-Soo said distractedly, poking at a now stale dumpling.

Yao ignored the younger man, his voice heavy and thick with exhaustion and too much stale wine. "Look at what we do to each other every day, what we're capable of doing year after year. And yet we still call each other brother? If what we are is history, then in the end all we amount to really is just a series of grudges, one piled on top of the other on top of the other until all we can do is look back at what we wrote in our little diaries thousands of years ago to try and find that very first grudge that split someone else apart and gave birth to us! It would be poetry worthy were it not so absolutely wretched!"

Yong-Soo's eyes widened slightly, but he said nothing in response, and instead casually inched the nearly empty bottle of wine slowly away from the older man. Yao's breathing slowly steadied, and he groaned slightly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Yong-Soo discretely hid the bottle of wine under the table. "And here I thought I invented drunken rambling," he laughed to himself, throwing a quick glance at the other man across the table. Yao was staring morosely at his pale hands still latched on to the empty glass.

"My point is," Yao said suddenly, fixing Yong-Soo with a blank stare, his voice regaining a fragment of its normal composure, "My point is… we make these bonds in forgery. These bonds of family. Of brothers. There is not a one of us who does not long to be free of them, but without them, we would have all faded long ago, replaced by some younger, less bitter versions of ourselves." Yao's dark eyes grew cold, "We cling in desperation to the falsehoods, and yet are amazingly surprised at how easily they are overlooked. How easily crushed underneath overwhelming pride and ambition."

Yong-Soo stared at Yao for a moment before cocking his head to the side. "So basically you're saying we aren't really related, yeah?"

Yao let his head thud on the table. "That would be the gist of it, yes," he muttered in irritation. "I am so glad all your philosophical studying for your examinations has prepared you for a degree in pointing out the obvious."

Yong-Soo grinned, "So if we're not related… then that means you'd be okay with me asking Taiwan out on a da-"

"Absolutely not." Yao's voice was muffled against the table top, sounding like he was physically ill at the mere thought.

Yong-Soo laughed loudly, his cheerful voice resounding throughout the darkened, colorful room. The sound was cut short.

"…This is why you lied to her, isn't it?" he asked, his voice suddenly rough and serious. "You told her that he couldn't make it."

"… I did."

"Why."

Yao sighed. "… Because how am I to tell her that he wants nothing more to do with us? And that we… that not a one of us would be willing to welcome him back."

Yong-Soo stared at the empty chairs encircling their lone table. He picked up the bottle of wine from where he had hidden it and poured himself a glass, drinking it in one quick motion. He set the bottle down, letting out a stilted breath. "You know what?" he said softly, "…It's kind of awesome when I can't tell the difference between real life and one of my house's amazing dramas. Just goes to show you how good we are at script writing. Bae Yong-Joon and I have so much in common. I can't believe you still haven't seen 'First Love'_._ It's like you're living in a cave or something. Seriously! It's like your whole house is just one, big cave, that's like, totally ignorant of what's cool and-"

"…Yong-Soo?"

"Yeah?"

Yao raised his weary head, fixing the younger man with a tired stare.

"Sometimes…I despise you."

---------

End Notes:

So now all of you have to go out and watch 'First Love'. …Well? What are you waiting for?! Scat!

I'm extremely nervous about this one, so comments, especially constructive criticisms, are greatly appreciated.

I have the rest of this series planned out, but I would like to apologize in advance for slow updating. School has once again reminded me that I am forever its bitch, and so until things settle down, expect updates to be sporadic.


	4. Legacies

-Author's Notes-

Warning: This is a temporary chapter. It will probably be replaced as soon as I get my computer working again. So... yes.

I had a bit of trouble with the names for this chapter, considering neither Greece's nor Turkey's has been standardized using roman letters yet. So, I went with the arbitrary spelling of 'Heracles' and 'Sadiq', which I think is what is also used on the 'official' Hetalia scanlations that so many people have worked hard on translating. So I don't want to hear people being like, 'HE'S ACTUALLY NAMED HERCULES' because I will just whip out my dictionary and show you that ヘラクレス, which is his 'official' name, can be spelled Heracles, Hercules, Herakles, Herakuresu and about fifty thousand other ways – some of which aren't even Greek. SO. Deal with my arbitrary nature. *grin*

Also Turkey's speech is insane. I tired to make him sound like an ambiguous city-slicker to work with the whole 'Tokyo accent' thing, but it failed in a most spectacular manner.

Enjoy.

---------

**Talks in Bars**

_Scene 6: Legacies_

Heracles gave a quiet laugh as he trailed a bottle cap on a string across the bar top, emerald eyes sparkling with delight as the kitten chased recklessly after it. Next to him, perched on the edge of a bar stool, Kiku sat watching the Greek man with a fond smile on his face.

"His name?"

Heracles jerked the string. "Her. Penelope."

"Penelope." Kiku tested the strange word, struggling to make it sound as close to the other man's pronunciation as possible. He frowned. "It is a strange name."

"You think so?" Heracles hid the bottle cap under one of his palms, and the kitten batted a soft paw against his tan hand. "It's common in my house."

Kiku flushed, stammering slightly, "A-Ah, I did not mean that it is a poor name by any means. It is just odd to me –"

"Relax." Heracles picked up the small tortoiseshell kitten, plopping her in the surprised Kiku's lap. "Don't apologize. Call her what you want."

Kiku hesitantly stroked the soft fur, laughing in quiet delight as the kitten began to purr. Heracles smiled. "She likes you."

The Japanese man's mirth faded as he scratched the kitten under its chin. "Heracles-san…" Kiku sighed, "I am afraid I invited you here with an ulterior motive in mind."

"What would that be?" Heracles seemed disinterested, fiddling with the label on his beer.

Kiku placed the kitten back on the counter to let it sniff a bowl of peanuts, and turned to face Heracles. He swallowed, "I-"

Suddenly the door to the bar slammed open and a tall figure stepped over the threshold, chin held high as though he owned the place. Sadiq adjusted his mask underneath his hooded sweatshirt, and looked around the bar, a smug grin on his face. Kiku's dark eyes flickered to the side as he saw Heracles visibly stiffen. The Japanese man sighed and placed a restraining arm on the tall man's shoulder.

"Please calm yourself, Heracles-san," Kiku murmured as he watched Sadiq stop to chat up a terrified waitress. "This was the ulterior motive of which I spoke."

"An ulterior motive to ostracize yourself from me forever?" Heracles hissed, wrenching his shoulder out of the younger man's grip and grabbing the mewling kitten off of the bar top.

"Half an hour." Kiku swiveled on his bar stool to grab another beer. "Give me half an hour of your patience, and… and… next time you visit my house I will buy you a whole new pornography collection."

Heracles stared at the Japanese man. "Pornography," he said dryly, "You think you can bribe me to talk to… _him_… with pornography."

Kiku nodded. "Yes."

Heracles looked forlornly at the exit, clutching the squirming Penelope to his chest, but he simply gave a dramatic sigh and remained seated.

Sadiq finally reached the bar after traumatizing no fewer than three waitresses with his most lurid pickup lines. He sidled onto the bar stool next to Kiku, pointedly ignoring the scowling Greek man seated on his other side. Amber eyes flashed behind the mask as Sadiq clapped the Japanese man on the back.

"Kiku! How you doin'?"

Kiku beamed up at the Turk. "Fine," he chirped, handing the taller man an opened beer. "Did you happen to see who else is here?" Kiku leaned backwards slightly to afford Sadiq a view of the scowling Greek.

"I'd noticed," Sadiq deadpanned, taking a swig of his beer. "Jus' choosin' t' ignore 'im."

Heracles made a quiet noise of irritation. Kiku fidgeted. Sadiq took another drink. The waitresses steered clear of the three tense looking seated nations as the seconds dragged painfully on.

Suddenly, the kitten sprang up on the counter top, pouncing on a lone peanut that was skittering across the wooden surface. Sadiq let out a bark of laughter and reached out to grab the kitten by the scruff of her neck.

"You still caryin' these things around?" he sneered, peering into the kitten's puzzled face.

"Give her back," Heracles growled, pushing himself away from the bar with a quick jerk.

Sadiq's eyes flickered behind his mask. "Inna minute," he said casually, cradling the kitten in his arms where it snuggled against his chest, purring audibly. Kiku quirked a grin at the surprising picture the brutal Turk made with the tiny kitten.

"Penelope likes you," the Japanese man said, reaching out to pet the kitten. Heracles made a noise like he was swallowing rusty nails, but slowly lowered himself back into his seat when Kiku shot him a pleading look over his shoulder.

Sadiq chuckled maliciously. "Penelope, huh…" he mused as he urged the kitten to crawl into his sweatshirt pocket. "I'dve named it Killer."

"Of course," Heracles said, his voice dredged in sarcasm, "How appropriate."

The Turk ignored him. "I 'member when you were a kid. You were scared stiff of these things."

Kiku laughed, his eyes shining with amusement. "Really? Heracles-san was afraid of cats?"

Heracles scowled into his beer, but said nothing.

"Terrified," Sadiq grinned evilly, snagging his own drink off the counter. "Used 't cling 't my leg, cryin' like a girl." He pitched his voice higher, clutching the bottle to his chest, "'Sadiq! Sadiiiiq it's gonna eat me! Save me! Saaaave me!" The Turk burst out laughing, shaking his head. "Damn you were such a brat." He took another swig, "Ev'ry time Egypt'd come over draggin' one of those animals along, you'd shriek an' try 'n crawl inna vase t' escape."

Kiku turned to fix Heracles with an eager and questioning grin. Heracles faltered slightly as he took his next drink, and then gave a heavy sigh. "It's… true," he muttered, wrenching the label off his beer completely. "Except for the screaming. That's ... _its_ twisted imagination."

"Used t' shriek like that whenever I wore m' mask too," Sadiq mused, grinning like a madman, "You'd try t' pull it offa my face with those itty bitty fingers a yours."

"I-I have always wondered why you wear that mask," Kiku admitted hesitantly. "I imagine it is rather difficult to see out of…"

The Turk nodded sagely, pushing the hood away from his face. "Yeah. Gotta base most've my vision on movement."

Kiku clapped his hands in delight. "Like a tyrannosaurus rex!" he said excitedly, flushing when others in the bar turned to stare at him. Sadiq laughed uproariously. "Hear that, brat?" he crowed, slamming his beer on the counter. "Kiku thinks I'mma fuckin' T-Rex!"

"Couldn't agree more," Heracles threw back a shot of ouzo. "Lumbering beast, brain the size of a walnut, useless forearms… sounds like you."

Sadiq scowled. "Man, can't lemme have anythin'," he grumbled, pulling the now slightly squashed kitten out of his pocket. "Still a brat."

"Don't call me brat, neanderthal."

"Don' call me neanderthal you little shit!"

"Gentlemen!" Kiku snapped, placing his beer on the counter with a loud thump. "Please try and calm yourselves!"

"The fuck you invite 'im for if you wanted me t' be calm?" Sadiq groaned, cracking the top off of another beer.

"Agreed. For once," Heracles said sourly. "What insanity made you think this was a good idea?"

Kiku let out a calming breath and pushed aside the empty beer bottles. "Because," he said slowly, "when I am alone with one of you, all you seem to be capable of doing is talking about the other."

"That's not-"

"The fuck makes you think-"

Both men stopped mid rant, glaring over the top of Kiku's head at each other.

Kiku took another deep drink and tried again. "There is obviously some sort of bond between the two of you, and I was curious to see-"

"A _bond_? The hell does-"

"What do you-"

"One at a time!" Kiku yelled, pinching the bridge of his nose in an uncharacteristic show of impatience. When both men opened their mouths, Kiku pointed to his left. "Heracles-san, you may start." Sadiq took another draught of his beer, scowling.

The Greek unclenched his teeth. "Just… tell me what you were thinking."

"As I said. There is a bond between you two." Kiku picked up Penelope off the counter and placed her on his lap. "I was curious to see exactly what that bond entailed."

"Well now y'know," Sadiq grumbled, "Mutual hatred abounds." He cradled the beer in his palm, frowning behind the stark white mask. "The brat's mum was sucha fox… kinda had high hopes for the kid."

Heracles choked on his beer. "D-Don't talk about my mother that way!" he coughed, attempting to glare at the Turk.

Sadiq grinned, "'S true. Envy of the ancient world, lemme tell ya. Rome n' me kept gunnin' for her attention. She shot us down ev'ry time. But then…" he trailed off, staring into his beer. "None of 'em left anymore," the Turk said quietly, throwing back a hit of rum. "Brat's got 'er eyes though. Emerald color."

Heracles remained silent, pouring himself another shot. Kiku's expression softened as he said hesitantly, "Ya-… China… used to tell me stories about all of you ancient ones."

"Hey!" Sadiq yelled indignantly, slamming his shot glass on the table. "Don' group me in with all of those dead ones! I ain't ancient!"

Heracles rested his head on the bar top. "You wear that disgusting mask to hide your rotting ancient face. Don't try and hide it."

"'S not disgustin'," Sadiq grumbled. "'S tradition."

Kiku let a small smile grace his features. "I have to admit, Sadiq-san. I am rather curious as to what you look like without the mask."

"Well keep wonderin'," the Turk snapped, fumbling for the bottle of rum. "An' don' gimme those… those stupid puppy dog eyes! It ain' happenin'!"

Kiku frowned, eyes crossing as he tried to focus on the bottle in front of him. "What does that mean, 'puppy eyes'?"

"There! Those!" Sadiq pointed an accusing finger into the Japanese man's face, "Those're puppy dog eyes! The brat used 't make them when I refused t' give 'im candy!"

"Did not," Heracles slurred, twisting the cap off of a fresh bottle of beer. "'Sides, I hate… hate candy."

"Liar."

Kiku smiled sadly, resting his head on the counter top. "You… you were family, weren't you." The Japanese man lifted his head slightly to pillow it on his arms. "A long time ago…"

"Sure," Heracles plucked Penelope out of Kiku's lap, "If being conquered by an arrogant prick is 'family', then yes, we were."

"Emphasis on the 'were'," Sadiq said sourly.

"Still…" Kiku's voice was muffled against his arm, "You two… have history. Have _a _history together that no one else can ever... I… I am rather envious of this."

"Fuck history," Sadiq snapped, taking another swig of rum directly from the bottle. "Can't trust the damn thing at all."

"It's hilarious how you just dismiss history just because you're ashamed of how you acted a few hundred years ago." Heracles narrowed his green eyes, shrugging out of his jacket and grabbing for his beer. "Go hide behind your mask like a goddamn coward because of what your empire did."

Sadiq snarled, "I protected you for years, brat! Made sure no one else-"

"Get off your fucking high horse, Sadiq!" Heracles snapped, shredding the bottle label with deft fingers. "You made a career out of slaughtering people. Don't try and dress it up with nice words. You're not Rome. You never were."

The entire bar fell silent for a moment before the ambient noise picked up again slowly, drowning out the heavy tension that had fallen over the three nations. Suddenly Kiku staggered to his feet, saying slowly, "I… I think I need to go get another few… beers." The Japanese man stumbled off barely under his own power. The other two watched him go with equally amused expressions on their faces.

"Th' man can barely hold 'is liquor," Sadiq drawled, draining the last of the rum into his waiting glass. "Guess 's true what they say 'bout Asians."

"Racially typing people," Heracles muttered. "Not earning any points."

Sadiq ground his teeth. An awkward silence smothered the two, before suddenly, Sadiq reached up and removed his mask, placing it gently on the bar top. He had a faint tan line that rimmed his sunken eyes as he blinked owlishly, adjusting to the dim light of the bar. His hair was unkempt, his face streaked with dirt, and he looked as though he hadn't slept for a few centuries.

Heracles' emerald eyes flickered up to meet the deep amber ones, a small frown on his face. "I'd forgotten…" he murmured, turning back to his drink. "How I hate it when you do that."

Sadiq rubbed a weary palm over the five o'clock shadow on his face. "You're th' only one, brat," he grumbled, "Billions of sexy ladies'd die 't get a glimpse of my handsome mug."

"What you meant to say was that millions of women would be stricken with convulsions if they ever saw your train wreck of a face."

Sadiq rolled his eyes, resting his chin on his hand. "We'd get along a lot better if you'd jus' admit you find me sexy."

Heracles let out a derisive snort. "Not even a miracle like that could fix this." He frowned into his empty beer bottle, and his eyes widened in surprise as the Turk slid his own half full bottle across the bar. Heracles paused before taking a cautious sip. Sadiq stared at the younger man for a moment before blurting out.

"Your mum… she was a cool lady."

"So you've said."

"How mucha 'er do you 'member?"

Heracles finished the beer. "None."

Sadiq's amber eyes softened slightly. "Kinda sad, that. Not even knowin' your own mum."

Heracles shrugged. "Not like she knew me either. And I don't think anyone besides you even remembers her anymore. The real her. Not what's in books."

The Turk rubbed his chin. "You're right, prob'bly." He sighed. "Fuck. I _am _old." The remark passed without comment, and Sadiq flicked his amber eyes to the left to focus on the younger man's face. He licked his lips hesitantly. "She made me promise. Otherwise… I don't know if I'dve even bothered." Sadiq took a drink.

Heracles remained silent, staring down at the sleeping Penelope in his lap before picking her up and placing her on the counter, where she meowed fitfully before falling back asleep.

Sadiq stared at the kitten a moment before picking his mask up off the counter and lifting it to his face again. Suddenly a hand on his arm stopped him. Heracles' dark emerald eyes were slightly unfocused as they stared up into the Turk's face. Sadiq waited a moment before raising one eyebrow. "What-"

"Quiet," Heracles snapped, his gaze not wavering. "Thinking."

A few more moments passed, before Sadiq coughed, "How long-"

"'Til I say so. Plebeian."

"Brat."

Heracles gave a frustrated growl and released the older man's sleeve with an exasperated flourish. Sadiq placed his mask back down on the counter top, where Penelope instantly began batting at it with one small paw. The two watched the kitten cavorting across the bar top before Sadiq suddenly spoke.

"Us 'n Egypt… we're pretty much the only ones left, huh. That 'member 'im."

Heracles pushed the empty beer bottles aside. "Those boys of his don't…"

"Maybe a little." Sadiq stroked the kitten's tortoiseshell fur. "But not at 'is prime. Not when he coulda given even me a run for my money."

"Your ego is stupidly indestructible as ever."

Sadiq snorted, "'T build an empire, ya gotta have ego. He knew it, your mum knew it, even those young kids of 'is know."

Heracles picked up the mask. "Divide and conquer."

Sadiq glanced at the younger man with sharp eyes. "Survival of the fittest."

"More pretty words." Heracles toyed with the thin mask, a slightly sad expression on his face. "I remember the first day you wore this."

Sadiq reached out with one rough hand to grab the mask out of the younger man's hands. "Thought you might." He deftly placed it on his face, shadowing his eyes. "You'd be better off fortettin'."

Heracles stared up at the other man with a detached expression. "Don't think I ever could."

The two sat in silence for a moment until Sadiq suddenly frowned. "Feels like we're missin' somethin'."

"Yeah…"

The two men stared at each other, before Heracles said slowly. "Where's Kiku?"

Sadiq blew his bangs out of his face. "…Fuck."

Five minutes later, the two were standing in the men's bathroom, both staring down at Kiku, who had fallen asleep fully clothed leaning against the side of an open stall. Sadiq sighed. "You want top end or bottom?"

"Depends." Heracles gently shoved Penelope deeper into his coat pocket. "How far we have to carry him?"

"Jus' to a taxi."

"Then bottom."

Sadiq nodded and reached down to hoist the peacefully sleeping Japanese man up, staggering slightly under the weight. He glared at the Greek when Heracles didn't budge. "You gonna help me?"

"You look like you have it under control," Heracles said tiredly. "I'll act as management."

The Turk made a few choked noises of frustration before he readjusted Kiku over his shoulder, kicking his way through the bathroom door. Heracles tossed some money down on the bar top as they passed, throwing the startled waitress a tired smile.

They managed to get Kiku settled into a taxi, and then both made to get in. Heracles sighed. "I should.."

Sadiq's eyes narrowed behind his mask, but he stepped backwards to let the shorter man slide into the taxi, slamming the door shut behind the Greek. Suddenly he opened the door again to stare into Heracles's startled face.

The Turk frowned. "So… we doin' this again sometime?"

Heracles just stared at him for a moment before saying slowly, "Wouldn't count on it." He shut the cab door.

Sadiq watched the taxi pull away from the curb, a pensive expression on his hidden face. He sighed, pulling off his mask to get a better view of the night sky, barely visible through the clouds of fog. The Turk closed his eyes.

"Promised you, didn' I. An' I kept my word. Unlike some rat bastard who'll remain nameless." Sadiq closed his eyes, shoving his hands into his sweatshirt pocket.

"But he's still 'ere. Still alive an' as annoyin' as ever. Still hates my guts jus' like you taught 'im to. Still looks too damn much like you."

A quarter of an hour passed before Sadiq opened his eyes. He slipped his mask back on.

"You 'n me, kid."

He leaned against the side of the bar, eying the stream of beautiful people flooding into the noisy and colorful building across the street.

Sadiq smiled bitterly.

"Guess a remnant of history's 'bout the only bond we got left."


End file.
